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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519929">Since I Saw Vienna</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflower_Meadows/pseuds/Sunflower_Meadows'>Sunflower_Meadows</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A little angst, Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Bittersweet, Dadza, Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Family, Flowers, Found Family, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Hurt No Comfort, I really do mean your heart will hurt in the best way by the end of this, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, can be interpreted as canon or an au, kind of sad, please I just want a crumb of sbi family angst is that too much to ask, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, when I say this shit is bittersweet, your honor it’s familial love for the soul</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:16:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflower_Meadows/pseuds/Sunflower_Meadows</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers very little of his past, content to blissfully enjoy his time in the sunlit clearing in which he has always stayed. The stones are mossy now, and the bushes overgrown, but he stays here still.</p><p>There are only three memories he finds himself clinging to, more precious to him than even his own name. Than even his identity, even if he cannot remember why.</p><p>Pink freesias. Blue forget-me-nots. White lilies.</p><p>They are the most important thing to him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s), platonic - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Since I Saw Vienna</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everybody! I’m back with yet another SBI centric story! I’ve got a short Technoblade one in the works as well, to match this Wilbur one shot and the Tommy one from a bit ago, but I don’t know if I’ll end up posting it.</p><p>Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this short thing I came up with, I’m pretty proud of it! You can read it as fully canon to the SMP lore, or read it as an AU. The important thing is that they’re a family, and I love them so much.</p><p>Please enjoy!</p><p>- Meadows</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>How long has he been here?</p><p> </p><p>The exact time is lost on him, but he knows it’s long enough for vines to grow, to crack the stone he sits by into unrecognizable pieces. Long enough for time to erode the carving upon it, for the elements to erase the memory of whose name had graced it once long ago. Long enough for the presents and offerings left so many years ago to crumble to ash and assimilate with the soil, bringing fresh life to the flowers that grow stubbornly like weeds upon the mossy mound of stones.</p><p> </p><p>Pink freesias. Blue forget-me-nots. White lilies.</p><p> </p><p>A patch of yellow dandelions, warm and fierce in their hold on the area.</p><p> </p><p>These flowers feel important for some reason.</p><p> </p><p>His memory is very faded now, like an old photograph that’s seen a little too much daylight and handling, the smiles and events depicted in very faint colors. There are only three memories he holds onto with fervor, the picture as clear as ever, even if he cannot remember why.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span class="u">ONE: Phil</span>
</p><p> </p><p>A man sits with his legs crossed before a grave, silver hair escaping the confines of his weathered green-striped bucket hat, face haggard but wearing a tired smile that curls faintly at the corners of his mouth. In his hands is a guitar — old, though you would not know it from the way the wood gleams from a careful polish, or the glint of fresh strings shining down the length of it.</p><p> </p><p>Pride rises in him warmly at the sight of this guitar being so well cared for.</p><p> </p><p>The man speaks to the stone in front of him, age coloring his voice roughly, though the tone remains smooth and gentle. “Hello, son. Happy birthday. I fixed her up for you,” the man raises the guitar a little off his lap, “but sadly I don’t know how to play.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That’s alright. You don’t need to play for me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The man coughs suddenly into his fist, and grimaces. “I’m not sure how many more birthdays I’ll be able to make. Your brothers keep telling me to take it easy, but I don’t think I ever learned how to do that.” The man laughs, but it turns into a wheeze and he has to pause to catch his breath.</p><p> </p><p>A breeze rustles gently through the clearing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That’s okay, take your time. I’m very good at waiting. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>After another minute, the man seems to be fine again, even if his voice is a little quieter. “I’m a little worried about them, you know. Tech’s been off the radar since last I visited, the only reason I even know he’s still alive is because of his letters. Toms has been at the house helping me out, but he’s still so young. He’s got a country to look after, he can’t afford to be taking months off just to babysit his old man.”</p><p> </p><p>The man laughs a little bit, though the sound is anything but cheerful. Wistful, maybe. Tired. “At least when I’m gone they won’t have to worry anymore, and I can finally give you a birthday hug.” He pauses, traces a finger along the neck of the guitar. His voice is heavy as he says, “I’m getting old. Imagine that! I’m more tired now than ever, and I think my lungs are starting to go too. I don’t want to see a doctor though; I know my time is coming soon.”</p><p> </p><p>A beat.</p><p> </p><p>Then the sunlight falls through the trees just right, and a beam makes those old cerulean eyes gleam with a long forgotten youth again as the man grins. “We’re gonna cause so much chaos in the beyond together. Gotta make up for all those years missed, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yeah. Let’s do it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A white lily flower blooms next to the dandelions three months later.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span class="u">TWO: Technoblade</span>
</p><p> </p><p>One of his few memories of before the clearing is one of a boy just like him.</p><p> </p><p>The only way he differs is a shock of bright pink hair, and the way his voice flatlines even when he’s afraid.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a different forest, darker and more sinister, and the pink boy stands in front of him with a shiny diamond-edged sword in hand. Three zombies shamble closer. In the shade under the trees they seem to loom above the two boys to an impossibly tall height.</p><p> </p><p>“Tech, my ankle!” His voice, high and trembling as he lies crumpled on the forest floor with a hand clutching the swollen lump above his bare foot, shoe discarded previously for a dip in the babbling brook behind them.</p><p> </p><p>The pink haired boy in front of him does not look back as he replies, with only a little bit of a shake to his voice, “Can you stand?”</p><p> </p><p>The zombies shuffle closer.</p><p> </p><p>Tears blind him when he tries to do so, and he cries out as hot pain lances through his joint and he falls again to the dirt.</p><p> </p><p>To his credit, the boy — “Tech” — does not turn back at the noise, though it is clear in the way his shoulders shake that he is sorely tempted. The boy’s monotone is rough and catches in his throat as he says, “Okay, guess not. Get as close to the bank as you can, Dad said water slows ‘em down. Y’know,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “in case I go down and you gotta run.”</p><p> </p><p>His voice again, hysterical and stubborn in the way only kids can be. “No! I’m not leaving you! I’ll fight too!”</p><p> </p><p>The boy grumbles. “You don’t have a choice. I’m s’pposed to protect you, idiot. What’ll I do if you’re gone?”</p><p> </p><p>Then, oblivious to the cries of the injured boy behind him, he lunges forward and swings his sword in an arc towards the first zombie.</p><p> </p><p>A beautiful pink freesia joins the dandelions two years after the lily does.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span class="u"> THREE: Tommy </span>
</p><p> </p><p>The snow was cold, he remembers.</p><p> </p><p>The snow was cold when he found a little boy rooting around in the chests in their storm cellar, doors outside thrown carelessly open and stark against the white dusting covering the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello,” he’d said, amused and equally annoyed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The kid’s bold, I’ll give him that. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The kid screams shrilly and jumps almost a foot in the air at the noise, whirling around with golden apples clutched in grubby hands to an equally muddy shirt. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Huh. Blue eyes, like Phil. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says instead, peering down into the darkness of the cellar with a squint and a wrinkled nose. “Phil didn’t say anything about help this winter, and I’m willing to bet you’re not from town. Who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>The kid shuffles his feet nervously for a moment, glancing around for some sort of escape. He looks a bit like a trapped animal. When he finds none, small fingers tighten around the gapple as something contrary and fierce flickers on in those bright eyes. “My name’s Tommy, I live in the woods! Fuck you, bitch!” The curses are awkward, in only the way one inexperienced with the usage of them can be.</p><p> </p><p>He chokes on a surprised laugh. “Wow, what a rude kid you are! I didn’t know fetuses were allowed to swear! Or steal, for that matter!”</p><p> </p><p>The kid frowns. “I’m nine! I’m not a kid! And I’m <em> not </em>stealing, I’m just...looking at it.” He pauses, then adds on as almost an afterthought, “Bitch.”</p><p> </p><p>The loud sound of a stomach growling echoes in the stone room. The kid’s face flushes.</p><p> </p><p>He hums, and sits back on his heels outside the door thoughtfully. <em> Phil can deal with this child better than I can. </em>“Well, kid, why don’t you come on up? We have real food inside the actual house.” He extends a helping hand down into the room below.</p><p> </p><p>The kid freezes up, and those blue eyes go impossibly wide. A moment passes, and then a small dirty hand clasps a mitten.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not a kid, though!”</p><p> </p><p>He just laughs, and pulls the boy up and out of the cellar.</p><p> </p><p>Many happy years later, a blue forget-me-not blooms brightly in the center of the perpetual flower patch, the last to join the bunch.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>He cannot recall anything else so clearly, but he is sure that if those people who seemed so important and bright in his mind were the people he spent his life with, it must have been an amazing life to have. To be able to know them and experience every day with them.</p><p> </p><p>He hopes he treasured it.</p><p> </p><p>Grey hands pick at yellow threads absently as he sits by the crumbled stone that he thinks once had a name on it, and just beyond the clearing he sees the rotted shape of a house overgrown with ivy and surrounded by growth.</p><p> </p><p>He likes plants, he thinks. Likes to watch them grow.</p><p> </p><p>Short nails pull at a fraying sleeve. His sweater didn’t used to be this shabby, probably. He can’t remember.</p><p> </p><p>The strain of a long ago melody hums through the clearing as yet another sun sets below the horizon, and he watches the house.</p><p> </p><p>He is protecting it.</p><p> </p><p><em> “I’ll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready, and I’ll put down my roots when I’m dead…” </em> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! I really wasn’t kidding around with those tags, this really gets at those feels. I was listening to Saline Solution and Since I Saw Vienna on loop while I was writing this, with a little bit of added Crywank in there to spice it up.</p><p>I really hope you guys enjoyed, please drop a kudos or comment if you did! Even if you didn’t like it, please drop a comment to let me know so I can be on the lookout for things to fix in my writing! :)</p><p>Also, I know the Teen rating wasn’t really warranted since there’s only a total of like three swear words in the whole thing, I just didn’t feel like rating it G was right either. Anyway, hope you all liked it, and if you’re coming here from my multi-chapter I’m SORRY! Writing one shots is way easier than story-outlining, I promise I’m going to get around to that fic again! </p><p>Remember to stay hydrated and sleep well, I’ll see you all again on the flip side! :)</p><p>- Meadows</p></blockquote></div></div>
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